First Do No Harm
by PrescriptionFics
Summary: Two Medics with a long-standing rivalry see each other on the battlefield for the first time in years.  One of them has a score to settle- the other must fight for the survival of his team.
1. Chapter 1

Dr. Engel heaved a tired sigh as he closed the door to his quarters. The last of the day's battle-wounded patients were finally tended and off to bed. It was beginning to seem to him that he was always the last to get any sleep in the place. His aching body shivered with relief as he sank onto his cot, leaning his shoulder against the comforting coolness of the painted block wall. Engel smiled faintly to himself, knowing that, though he was always last to bed, the team as a whole was getting more sleep since their 'arrangements' with BLU… an agreement to not kill members of the opposing teams.

The selective armistice had allowed everyone to breathe a little more easily, but it certainly didn't dim anyone's competitive spirit. It became a contest to find creative ways to harass the opposing team, to bloody them up, without ending their lives. That was two months ago, and it felt strange to Engel to finally be with a RED group long enough to make it worth knowing their real names (though he still rarely called his allies by them). It was a pleasant surprise to him that many of his teammates also bothered to learn his name, though he was still 'Medic' during battle.

In the dim light of the single bulb in his quarters, the RED Medic smoothed his lab coat, as though restoring his usually-clean appearance might ease the tense feeling in his muscles. His gloves crinkled faintly as he gripped his medigun and raised the barrel of the instrument upward. Even through his gloves he could feel the soothing warmth of the device, driving away some of the chill so prevalent in the poorly-heated base. Engel rested his chin on the barrel of the medigun, and slid one hand slowly along the glorious contours of his healing companion before letting it rest on the trigger lever. He glanced briefly back to his door, and, seeing that it was indeed locked, he gave the lever a gentle flick.

An ethereal, faintly-glowing red plume issued from the barrel of the gun. The warm caress of its healing energies against his skin caused Engel to shudder with delight… and anticipation. His eyes slid shut, and he parted his lips, as though in preparation for a lover's kiss. The Medic inhaled a deep, slow breath, feeling that glowing warmth rush down his throat and fill his expanding lungs. That delicious heat spread rapidly, carrying with it an almost electric tingling sensation. Engel's eyes lazily slid open to a different world.

The light from the bulb hanging overhead seemed shattered into a million different colors that cascaded over everything in the room, giving each object its own sort of strange texture. The dancing lights created a kind of indescribable music, a symphony of discordant and beautiful melodies. Every throbbing beat of his heart caused the swimming colors in Engel's vision to ripple and pulse. A fly buzzed by so slowly that the doctor could see its individual wing beats, and the wake of colors it trailed behind it in the air. In his state of euphoria, Engel found even this repulsive, unsanitary insect to be beautiful. The words "mein Gott" escaped his lips, a barely-audible whisper.

After a too-brief moment, the Medic exhaled. A few faint red wisps of vapor curled away from his nostrils and slightly open mouth like smoke before gently flowing away into oblivion. The vivid colors drained away from his vision; replaced by the drab dullness of reality… at least the pain in his muscles had faded as well, exactly as he'd hoped.

Engel unbuckled the harness that lay across his chest and waist, and allowed the heavy pack that the medigun was fed from to fall free from his back, onto the bed. He placed the entire device on the floor at the foot of his bed with a satisfied smile. One more day of battle, and then he could enjoy the relaxation of the weekend ceasefire, which couldn't come soon enough as far as he was concerned.

The doctor stripped to his boxers, neatly folding his clothes before gently placing his glasses atop them. He noticed that, in the afterglow of his 'indulgence,' he seemed to be able to feel every thread of the sheets against his skin as he pulled them over himself. Engel couldn't help but smile again as his eyes slid shut. He would not get to rest as long as the rest of the team, but it would be a damned good sleep…


	2. Chapter 2

"MEDIC!" the Soldier shouted across the table, flinging a few bits of half-chewed bacon from his mouth. A fleck of the meat shrapnel landed on the left lens of Engel's round-rimmed glasses. "Vat /is/ it?" the doctor half-hissed in reply while pulling a handkerchief free from his pocket to clean his glasses.

"You know that Medic on BLU?" the Soldier asked before shoving a forkful of scrambled eggs into his maw. The RED Medic gave a pained sigh. Honestly, Soldier had worse table manners than Sokov the Heavy, of all people.

"Doktor Fleischer?" Engel replied with a frown, as though the very words tasted bitter against his tongue. "Vat about him, 'Sergeant,'?"

The American's mouth twisted in displeasure, "Do not take that mocking tone with me, son! I've snapped the spines of a dozen Kraut maggots just like you for a lot less!"

Engel rolled his eyes and bit back a cutting response, reminding himself that the self-proclaimed man of rank wasn't 'all there.' "Vat is it about Fleischer zat you had to tell me?"

'Sergeant' placed his hands on the table, and leaned forward for dramatic effect. In a low, ominous voice he stated, "the Sniper saw somethin' funny about that Reich monkey's medigun through his scope last night." Engel briefly glanced about the table, and noted that the Sniper was not there… probably already up in his nest. "Seein' as you two Nazis were colleagues during the war…"

"Verdammt!" Engel interrupted, "do you listen to everysing zat Spy says?" The Medic shut his eyes tightly, pressing his fingers to his temples. A few months ago the RED Spy had produced some papers that were supposed to be confidential, and 'accidentally' left them lying about where the rest of the team could find them. Engel was convinced the skulking Frenchman had done so simply to irk him. The doctor had long ago decided that the Spy was no end of trouble. "Ve vere not 'colleagues'! Now, vould you get to ze point?"

"Aye," the Demoman ('McKinnon', was it?) butted in, shooting the Soldier a glare. "I saw it too. He turned tha 'ting on their wounded Scoot, and the lad went daffy! Had 'dis crazy look in his wee fancy eyes, and came runnin' at me swingin' his gun like a club!"

Engel frowned thoughtfully. "Ja…" he said quietly. "Come to zink of it, zer whole team seemed a little… savage… yesterday." It occurred to the doctor that Fleischer may very well have altered his medigun, perhaps to increase the aggression of the people he was using it on. Engel knew the other Medic's twisted mentality, a preference of bloodletting over healing (not that the RED Medic didn't also enjoy drawing blood from time to time). That penchant of indulging in the pain of others had been Fleischer's hallmark when the two doctors had worked at the camp, and Engel had wanted nothing to do with the man.

His suspicion aroused, the RED Medic gave a faint nod to the rest of the present team. "I vill see if I can get a look at his machine during ze fighting today. I highly suggest that the rest of you stay as far avay from him as possible."

With his warning issued, Engel left the table, returning to his room to strap on his gear and prepare for another day of dodging gunfire and healing wounded teammates.

"DOKTOR!" came a loud bellow from behind a parked train car. Engel responded quickly, turning back towards the RED side of the battlefield, where the shout had issued from. He sprinted across the small bridge over the canal at the BLU base and over the old train yard's only active railway. From there it was easy to follow the spotty trail of blood to Sokov, leaning against a train car, and gripping the massive chaingun that he had named 'Sasha'.

The huge Russian man had one hand over his rounded stomach, and his fingers were stained with blood. The cloth of his pants over his left knee was shredded and bloodied as well. Despite all this, Sokov smiled upon seeing his team's Medic. The doctor couldn't help but give a faint smile in return. He had always been amazed at the punishment the Russian could take on the battlefield… and without complaint. Sokov had also been very diligent about protecting the doctor from enemy bullets, even if it meant doing so with his own body.

Engel trained his medigun on the big man and pushed the lever forward. The wispy red healing ethers snaked from the barrel to his wounded teammate. The Heavy moved his hand away from his stomach, revealing a cluster of small, ragged holes in his flesh. It looked to have been caused by a scattergun fired at point-blank. The medigun's energies were already healing over the holes, but all of the lead pellets would have to be surgically removed later.

"Vaz it ze BLU Scout?" Engel questioned, "vaz he… ach… 'daffy', as ze Demoman said?"

"Da, Doktor!" the Russian growled in response. "Leetle man scream like crazy! He run up und put tiny backside on Sasha!" Sokov halted his broken-English rant and stroked the chaingun, as though reassuring it. "I vould have crush him, but he attack and then run away like BLU coward he is!"

Engel sighed, and shook his head in dismay. "Zis day has been a nightmare. I have not seem zem attack us this vay since before our agreement, und never vith such enthusiasm." The doctor recalled seeing the RED Pyro an hour before with a kukri gash in his side so large that he was almost beyond saving. It had been his thick fire suit that had saved his life… along with timely action on Engel's part.

At last, Sokov's wounds were closed, and the Medic released the trigger lever. "Zere, all healed. Und I vill have to see you aftervards to remove ze projectiles."

Engel turned to head back to the rest of his team, and was stopped by the large man's hand coming to rest on his shoulder. He turned back to face Sokov. "Doktor," the Russian said, "you not look so good. Need more resting at night, da?"

"Ja. Veekend starts in ten minutes… /zen/ I have to take ze bullets out of all of you before I can rest," the Medic stated with a faint smirk. The Heavy gave a bellowing laugh in response, hoisted Sasha back into place at his side, and strolled back around the train car to rejoin the battle.

Engel followed the Russian for awhile, and split away from him when they reached the canal on BLU's side. Sokov and McKinnon ran into the BLU base, probably after an enemy sentry gun. That's when the RED Medic felt something impact his chest, quickly followed by a loud bang.


	3. Chapter 3

Engel looked up just in time to see the BLU Sniper in his perch, ducking out of view. He was dimly aware of something hot and wet against the skin of his chest and stomach. The RED Medic quickly darted behind one of the abandoned railcars and looked down to see a stain of bright crimson blossoming across the front of his lab coat, its center on the lower right side of his chest, along with a ragged bullet hole in the fabric.

The wound didn't hurt at the moment, a reaction of the doctor's body to the sudden shock of the injury. Engel knew it wouldn't last long, and decided to take advantage of it, making a sprint towards RED's side of the battlefield. He was acutely aware of his blood-soaked undershirt sticking to his skin, growing cold against his flesh as he ran.

Panic welled up inside the Medic as he realized he was becoming winded far faster than usual. "Help! Someone, bitte… schnell!" he cried out between increasingly labored breaths, but none of his team was in sight… or earshot.

His legs were getting so heavy and tired, and each breath came with more difficulty. The doctor wasn't sure if this was caused by blood loss, or if the bullet had grazed his lung… or both.

A spike of pain came suddenly from the bullet wound in his chest. He gasped in surprise, and immediately regretted it. Engel felt his throat close up as blood was sucked into his lungs, and he had to stop and lean against the rail yard's chain-link fence as he fell into a fit of violent coughing. Each spasm sent a bolt of fresh pain lancing through his chest, and the bullet hole felt inexplicably hot.

When he finally managed to clear his lungs the doctor could hear the sound of approaching footfalls some distance off. His hopes soared as he imagined Sokov lumbering around the corner to take him to the safety of their base. The doctor's smile faded, though… No, the footfalls were too light, too deliberate.

Engel caught a glint of metal at the edge of his vision, and turned to see the BLU Sniper emerge from behind a large crate about ten yards away, gripping his kukri. The Medic found his presence out in the open to be highly uncharacteristic of the usually evasive man… What was more unsettling, though, was the aggressive smile on the Sniper's face.

"G'day, Doc!" the Aussie called out, once again flashing the shark-like grin, causing terror to rise up once more in the RED Medic.

That gripping fear gave Engel a sudden burst of energy, and he broke into a stiff run, his tiring body struggling to carry him forward. He could hear a loud ringing sound, and flashes of lights near the railway up ahead… the train was coming. If he could just make it to his allies' side of the tracks in time…

The doctor began to choke again as he ran, and flecks of blood spattered his lips every time he exhaled. He couldn't stop though… he could hear the Sniper gaining on him. He couldn't risk tripping to turn and fire his Blutsauger at the man, either.

Engel strained to go faster, but the weakness in his muscles and the pain radiating from his chest with every gasping breath was almost too much to bear.

"C'mon mate, I just wanna have a little chit chat with ya!" the Sniper yelled over the roar of the approaching freight train.

They were getting so near the tracks, but the train, dragging dozens of heavy cars behind, was nearly there. It was going to be very close. The doctor could vividly imagine the steam-powered behemoth striking him, instantly crushing every bone in his body and splattering what was left along the tracks for miles… It was a horrifying image, but not as bad as the thought of being slowly hacked apart by the mad Sniper.

Engel finally reached the tracks, and, with the train barreling down on him he leapt, and the Sniper swung his blade. The Medic felt the tip of the sharpened kukri dig a shallow cut into his back, heard the blaring horn of the train… and then felt the sudden rush of air as the train blasted by, missing him by a mere fraction of an inch.

The doctor reeled away from the tracks and fell backwards against a stack of wooden crates. As he slumped to the ground he could catch glimpses of the BLU Sniper between the train cars rushing past. The man was clutching his bloodied, mangled right arm, and his blade was nowhere in sight. Engel saw the Aussie's mouth moving, and was sure he was uttering screams and curses that were drowned out by the roar of the passing freight train.

The Medic managed to drag himself behind the stack of crates where the enraged man could no longer see him. He could see his base a mere hundred yards away, but it seemed now an impossible distance.

"Someone," Engel called out weakly, "help! Bitte…" Nobody responded, and he could feel his life bleeding out of the bullet wound with every beat of his pounding heart. He started to turn the Medigun at himself to heal the wound… but it was a desperate notion that he did not long entertain. The feedback created by aiming those energies full-on at their source would be disastrous.

He tried to cry for help again, but it came out as a blood-choked gurgle. It was suddenly a burden to even keep his head up, so Engel rested his chin on the barrel of his Medigun for support. The doctor closed his eyes, and felt the blood continue to flow. He could feel the tightness build with every pained breath as the fluid filled his chest cavity. It would take at least fifteen minutes for him to die at this rate, and he felt so cold and alone.

Engel ached for someone, anyone to hold him, to carry him to the safety of the base that lay so tantalizingly close, yet just out of his reach. His eyes opened suddenly when he felt a light touch on his shoulder. The face of the BLU Spy was inches from his… he must have been cloaked and waiting. The lithe-looking Frenchman was crouched in front of him like some kind of predator, casually taking a drag from a cigarette.

"Docteur," the Spy greeted with a soft smile. He leaned in, and blew the smoke from his cigarette into the Medic's face. Engel struggled to keep himself from breaking into another painful coughing fit, and weakly reached for the bonesaw hanging from the belt at his waist.

It took the Spy little effort to bat the Medic's hand away from his weapon, and knock him painfully to his chest with a kick. Engel tried to push himself up on his elbows, but the Spy placed a hand between his shoulders and forced him back down. The doctor managed to kick out, and felt his boot strike something with a loud crack, resulting in a string of French curses from the other man.

The Frenchman placed his knees hard against the backs of the Medic's legs as he tried to kick out again.

"Zat was very unkind of you, Docteur," the Spy hissed, his voice sounding a bit more nasally than before. Engel could hear the man unfold his knife, and feel fingers probing his lower back, as though searching for something.

"You will not be doing zat to me again, I assure you," the Frenchman cooed. The doctor felt the fingers stop at a place on his back, and they were joined by the sharp point of the balisong. The pressure at that point built painfully, and the German cried out weakly as the knife was thrust into his flesh. There was a sudden shock, like electricity, as the blade stabbed through his spine. The medic could no longer feel the Spy's knees pressed into his legs, and was terrified to find that he could not move his lower limbs.

"Zhere… all better," the Spy chuckled lowly. The Frenchman grunted with effort as he turned the Medic onto his back. He grasped the heavier man by his ankles, and began unceremoniously dragging him across the ground, leaving a trail of the doctor's blood as they went.

Engel gripped his medigun tightly against his still-bleeding chest, holding it like a frightened child would grasp a teddy bear. His heart was beginning to flutter now, and his vision faded into a hazy gray tunnel.

"Bitte… help…" the Medic could barely hear his own choked voice as the world went black.


	4. Chapter 4

Engel looked down at the woman lying on the table in Fleischer's lab. Her bare skin was a sickly pale color, and riddled with bruises, smeared with sweat and blood. The only thing adorning the trembling flesh was a delicate chain around the neck with a fine golden six-pointed star resting between the woman's breasts, and a five-digit number tattooed across her right forearm.

The woman's brunette hair had been chopped short, and her eyes were shut tight in unconsciousness. There was a small pool of blood under each ankle, where the Achilles tendons had been cut, Fleischer's favorite way to hobble his 'patients'. She would likely never walk again. That didn't matter, though… it was her hands and head that Engel needed.

The doctor curled an arm under the woman, and slung her over his shoulder. Fleischer wouldn't like it when he found out that one of his would-be experiments had been taken. As the chief medical officer of the God-forsaken camp, Engel didn't much care how the lower-ranking doctor felt about what he did.

The twinge of death and terror hung about Fleischer's immaculate-looking lab like a miasma, and Engel was quick to leave it with his prize. None of the camp's guards questioned him as he walked through the halls. It was common enough for even the medical staff to take female prisoners to their quarters for 'entertainment'.

Dr. Engel flipped the light on in his quarters, and latched the door behind. He placed the woman on his bed and mopped the blood and sweat away before covering her with a sheet. The doctor pried open one of her startling green eyes, and noticed that the pupil was tightly constricted.

"Drugged, of course," he huffed, letting the eyelids slide shut once again. He would just have to wait.

* * *

><p>Engel stepped out of the bathroom in his quarters with a towel wrapped around his waist, more out of courtesy for his 'guest' than anything else. He looked up to the bed, and his face paled as he realized that it was empty. Something grasped tightly around his left ankle, and the next thing he knew he was face-down on the hard-wood floor, his right arm twisted around and pressed painfully into his back. He had sorely underestimated how aware the woman would be when she came to.<p>

"Please, mein frauline…" he grunted with a forced smile, "I vill be needing zat."

"Is zat so?" the woman hissed in her French accent. "Did you plan to use me as a lowly lab rat, like your colleague 'Herr Fleischer'?" She twisted Engel's arm a little harder, eliciting a muffled cry of pain from the man.

"Nein, I had other uses in mind for Frau Bouvier's talents." The doctor's smile was quickly swept away by a hard slap to the left side of his face that brought slight tears to his eyes.

"I am not some cheap street corner whore, Docteur…" she spat, clearly enraged.

"Ja, I know that," Engel said, a slight apologetic tone to his voice. "Perhaps I should have vorded zat differently… You have a brilliant mind, Frau Bouvier, exactly ze kind I need help from. Those are ze talents I speak of." He could practically feel the French woman's indignant glare burning into the back of his head.

After some explaining, the woman hesitantly slid off of Engel's back and grudgingly accepted his aid in getting back up on the bed. The two stayed up late into the night, and as Engel continued to share his plans, showing stacks of papers with diagrams and designs on them, the woman became less angry, and more intrigued.

Bouvier finally looked up from a paper of equations that she had corrected, into the doctor's icy blue eyes. "Ze other prisoners…" she started quietly, "zey call you 'Todesengel'. What does zat mean?"

Engel pursed his lips a bit at hearing the all-too-familiar name. "It means 'Angel of Death'."

* * *

><p>Dr. Engel woke in a cold sweat. Panic swelled within him as the familiar scent of terror, death, and antiseptic hit his nostrils. The immaculate, white-tiled ceiling was one he never imagined he would be looking at... though it was oddly swimming in a rainbow of colors. The steel operating table felt frigid against the bare skin of his back, and he could feel the coarse threads of restraining straps pulled over his wrists, ankles, chest, and forehead. He tried to will himself to stand up, but his muscles defiantly remained limp.<p>

"Stupid Snipah!" the hissed words echoed unnaturally in Engel's ears, but they travelled on the most terrifying voice in the world. "Ve are lucky zat you did not kill him vith zat shot! You are fortunate I vaz in a forgiving mood, othervise I vould not have felt too inclined to heal your arm…" Wait… 'Sniper'? Engel felt a jolt of realization… the mad Sniper, the Spy and his knife. This wasn't the camp… this was far worse.

Engel's fear mounted further as Fleischer leaned into view. The younger man's blonde hair was a bit disheveled from the battle before, and his icy blue eyes stared coldly down at his former superior as though he was preparing to pin and label an insect.

Fleischer leaned closer, until his face couldn't have been more than an inch from his captive's. "I vish you knew how much I have vanted zis, Herr Engel… to have you on my table after all ze trouble you caused for me at ze camp." The RED Medic wanted to shiver, but his body simply would not respond. He couldn't even blink, or close his slightly-open mouth.

"Vhat vas it ze prisoners called you? Ah… 'Todesengel' I believe it vas." Fleischer's lips once again twisted into a malicious grin. "You vill be 'Todesengel' again, Herr Engel… but zis time it vill be your teammates zat you escort to ze grave."

"Doc, are ye sure it's a good idea 'ta be tellin' him all that?" came a Texan drawl that could only belong to the BLU Engineer.

"Zat is vat the drug is for, dummkopf. His mind vill not file memories avay as it should, he vill not even remember zat stupid Snipah shooting him. I do not need you distracting me… keep quiet until you are needed!" The Texan went silent.

Fleischer reached up over the operating table. There was a loud click, and Engel wished he could have shut his half-lidded eyes against the blinding lights that shone down on him, and an accompanying flash of twinkling colors.

When Engel's vision cleared he could see the BLU Medic had taken up a scalpel… but the edges of the blade, and everything else, wavered and flickered with colored lights. It reminded him of the dreamlike euphoria that came with using his medigun for 'unintended purposes'… only this was a nightmare.

The medigun… that had to be why Engel was still aware of what was going on… Perhaps it had temporarily altered his brain chemistry… just enough so that the drug wouldn't quite work as intended.

"Ve are going to have so much fun, Herr Engel," Fleischer purred as he lowered the scalpel. The RED Medic could feel the cold blade bite into the skin of his abdomen, but the pain seemed somehow distant, as though it were happening to someone else.

Engel could feel hot blood trickle down his chilled skin as the cut was lengthened, from the bottom of his breastbone to his navel. The scalpel was raised, and brought back down out of sight. Engel could feel, rather than see, the line previously cut through his skin being redone in his muscles. There was a loud metallic clank as the scalpel was placed on the table.

"Give it to me, Herr Engineer," Fleischer commanded lowly, expectantly holding out a blue-gloved hand, now stained in the other Medic's blood. The Texan reached out and placed something in the BLU Medic's hand. It looked like a slightly smaller version of one of the Demoman's cylindrical grenades, with several modifications.

"Your team all depend on you, Engel," Fleischer sneered as he took the device. "Und it vill be their undoing… Zey all come gathering around your feet to be healed und looked after, right into ze blast radius."

Everything went white for an instant as Fleischer forced his gloved hand, still holding the device, into the incision. Sweat beaded on Engel's skin and his breathing quickened. His heart was pounding in his chest, causing the colored lights at the edges of his vision to flicker and dance. He tried to scream with all his might, but only a faint whimper managed to escape.

Fleischer's head instantly turned when he heard the sound, and he flashed Engel a predatory smile.

"You don't like it vhen I do that?" The blonde man chuckled, and released his grip on the bomb before removing his blood-soaked hand. He brought his thumb up to his lips, and licked the blood off with a smile, as though savoring the taste.

"Mein Gott," Fleischer murmured, "exquisite… you should try it…" The BLU Medic placed two bloody fingers against Engel's parted lips before thrusting them into his mouth. The older man wished more than anything that he could move, so he would be able to remove the arrogant bastard's fingers with his teeth.

"I have ze feeling zat such fine fare is vasted on you. Ve alvays did have different ideas of vhat vas savory…" Fleischer withdrew his fingers from the other's mouth.

Engel could feel the blood continuing to run from the wound in his stomach, and the dancing lights were turning into a gray haze. He could see the BLU Medic lean over and pick something up… his medigun. It had been modified, though. There were pieces changed, or replaced, and Engel noted what looked like several vent-slots on the barrel of the device, filled with a yellow-white glow.

"Do you like it, traitor?" Fleischer grinned. "I call it ze 'Kritzkrieg'. Quite an improvement on vhat BLU sent us. It may not have ze shielding powers of ze medigun, but it works nicely in other vays…" He pointed the barrel at Engel and pushed the trigger lever forward. A trail of glowing blue energy, flecked with yellow sparks, snaked to the RED Medic.

Engel could feel the incision pulling closed, feel his vitality returning. He could also feel his muscles trying to tense, and a spark of anger form in his mind. The colored lights filled his vision, though, and chased that consuming anger away, before everything faded once more into blackness.

* * *

><p>"Frau Bouvier?" Engel asked quietly, looking over the top of one of the papers she had handed him. The French woman was sitting at his desk, looking over all of the wires and metal piping and tubes that he had managed to collect. She was wearing one of his button-down shirts, and a pair of his trousers, but she had a petit frame, causing the clothing to bunch about her oddly. He knew that there was clothing in the camp that would fit her… but he couldn't stomach going to those grisly piles, knowing that the ashes of the former owners were raining down upon him…<p>

She turned to look at him with her blazing green eyes. She had begun looking healthier over the past weeks, especially since Engel had been sneaking extra rations for her.

"Zis device…" Bouvier started, "I zink I have found a way to store the energies in a sort of pack. It wouldn't be too terribly heavy; you could carry it on your back."

The doctor nodded, leaning back against the edge of the desk that he and Bouvier had been working at. He returned the paper to her after thoroughly inspecting the complex diagrams she had drawn on it. She truly was brilliant… and hiding under the nose of the Reich, her talents overlooked because of her gender and heritage.

"Ja… zat vill vork perfectly," Engel said. The man went silent, though, and suddenly stiffened. He could hear the loud clicking of boots walking down the tiled floor of the hallway, headed straight for his quarters. He looked at the desk, at all he and the French woman's hard work, at his dream of redemption… and terror welled up within him. He couldn't allow this project to be discovered, not now that it was so near to completion!

Engel pushed himself back so he was suddenly sitting on top of the desk, on top of the papers. "What are you…" the woman began to protest, and gave a startled yelp when the doctor took her by the wrists, and leaned forward so that their faces were mere inches apart.

"Play along, frauline, or ve vill both end up in ze furnace," he whispered darkly. The sound of clicking boots fell silent right outside his door, making the pounding of his own heart seem unbearably loud. Engel could feel Bouvier's pulse racing as well through his fingertips, still resting on her wrists.

There was no warning knock. As the handle was turned, Engel lunged forward those last couple inches, bringing his lips against hers. He could feel her body tense under his hands from… shock? Disgust?

The door was flung open, revealing a tall thin man wearing the immaculate uniform of the Totenkopfverbände. He stood stiffly, staring at Engel with an expression that was frighteningly unreadable. The doctor slowly leaned back, and looked at the older man in the doorway with a faint, almost friendly smile.

"Is zere some kind of problem, mein Herr?" Engel inquired. He swore he could see the guard smirk, a faint twinkle of amusement in his eye, and was sure he caught the scent of alcohol. The man stepped into the room, and came to a stop right next to the desk, the reek of liquor now unmistakable. Instead of looking at the papers, he looked to the French woman.

"My my, Doktor," the man slurred through a crooked smile, "vhat a lovely hure you found. I have enjoyed many of zem since ve took Paris, but I had no idea you were hiding such a prize from me."

Engel watched Bouvier, and saw the rage seething just behind her eyes. He swallowed his breath, fearing that the proud woman who had lost so much would lash out. She did… but not as Engel expected.

The woman seized Engel's tie in her hand, and jerked him forward so hard he nearly choked. Their lips were brought forcefully back together, and the doctor's eyes went wide in shock at the enthusiasm with which Bouvier's tongue was now assaulting his mouth.

The guard shook his head and softly clucked his tongue. "She is too aggressive for mein tastes, Doktor. I'm sure you vill be able to get her properly trained though, ja?"

"J-ja, Herr Kappel," Engel managed to stammer out after pulling away from those exploring lips. "But she is very spirited… und I am busy vith mein vork. You vill have to give us lots of time…" he narrowed his eyes faintly at the other man, "und /privacy/."

Kappel gave a raucous laugh, apparently satisfied with that answer in his obviously drunken state. He gave the doctor a hard pat on the back before slamming his still-open hand into the right side of Bouvier's face.

"Just to get things started for you, Herr Engel," the man smiled, turning his back and heading for the door. The doctor gritted his teeth and clenched his hands into fists. He started to rise, but a sharp tug on his tie snapped his attention back to his companion, whose gaze seemed to say "don't do anything stupid."

He heard the door close, followed by the clicking of boots receding down the hallway. The threat had passed… for now.

"Did you really mean to fight him?" Bouvier hissed incredulously, releasing the doctor's tie. An angry red mark had already formed on her lovely face, and it would surely leave a livid bruise.

"I vould have very much liked to have broken some of ze teeth out of zat smug face. I /hate/ zat man… ze drunken letch," Engel said through gritted teeth, jaw clenched tight. He opened his mouth to say something, and suddenly found the French woman's lips against his once more. But… the danger was gone… there was no more need for such a charade… right?

The woman's lips were so soft, though, and her hands were slipping around behind his back and, oh God, the way she tasted… He forced himself to pull back, away from her.

"Frau Bouvier…" Engel started, merely a whisper, "your husband…"

"Is dead," her eyes shimmered with barely-concealed tears. "I loved him, Docteur, more than anything… but he is dead… and I will not simply stop living because of it." She flashed him a small smile.

"Docteur?" her voice sounded different, almost dreamlike. "Docteur, can you hear me?" She reached out and took hold of his shoulders before giving him a hard shake. He suddenly felt very tired, and sore. "Docteur, are you alive?" The world began to spin. "Docteur!" that voice was so familiar, and no longer female. "I zink the Docteur is waking up."

"Spy…?"


	5. Chapter 5

Engel shook his head weakly. He felt as though he was on a ship at sea, rocking faintly up and down on choppy waters. He felt soaked to the bone, and shivered from cold.

The doctor finally forced his eyes open, and found that he was not moving up and down on ocean waves, but on one of Sokov's broad shoulders as the massive Russian walked through the threshold of RED base. Engel slowly lifted his head a bit to see that their Spy was following behind. The Medic couldn't help but narrow his eyes at the man after the encounter with his counterpart.

The Spy returned Engel's glare with an irritatingly smug smile. "Bonjour, Docteur, nice to see you after your little swim, oui?"

"Swim?" the German man questioned, letting his head sink once more against the Russian's back. He felt so cold, and the big man's body heat felt nice, even through his shirt and heavy vest. He could tell by the sudden transition to carpet on the floor that they had now entered the base's designated 'common room', where most of the team would undoubtedly be unwinding after the hostilities.

"Oui, Docteur. I found you just after the battle, hanging onto the edge of the canal on BLU's side. Your face was only just out of the water. I did not know you enjoyed the company of the fish zat much." Engel could practically see the man's terrible smile, even though he had closed his eyes.

"I bet chucklenuts there was high on ethers and fell into the drink." The Medic felt his body tense upon hearing the Scout's voice, and his accusation… he had been so careful!

"Vhat is tiny man talking about?" Sokov growled.

"I saw 'Herr Doktor' huffin' off his medigun a couple weeks ago in the infirmary. Started starin' at the damn wall the way Ben ogles a sentry he's just finished buildin'."

Engel wanted so badly to get his hands on the loud-mouthed Bostonian, but he didn't even feel that he could lift his arms.

"You watch yer mouth, boah," came the unmistakable Texan drawl, "a brand new sentry's a beautiful thing, and well worth appreciatin'. And, that's a mighty nasty accusation yer makin' at the Doc."

The sounds of the arguing Texan and the Scout were left behind. Soon the Medic could hear Sokov's boots making the familiar creaks and thuds of footsteps down the hallway where all their quarters were. The doctor opened his eyes when the Russian stopped before the door with the red cross and circle on it. The big man pushed the door open, and walked inside.

Engel's quarters at RED base were a lot smaller than the ones he lived in at the camp, and yet the tidy room felt much more comfortable than that place ever could.

"I told Doktor he needed more rest," the Russian said with a faint chuckle that brought a smile to Engel's lips. Since they had come to know one another, the huge man had alternated between worrying over the doctor like a child and looking up to him like a father figure.

"That you did," Engel agreed. "Perhaps I should listen to you more often, ja?"

"Da. Doktor is smart man, but work too hard for own good." Sokov lifted the man off of his shoulder as though he weighed nothing, and carefully set him on his feet, supporting him for a moment until he was sure the doctor's trembling form could hold itself up. The Russian had already removed the pack from Engel's back, and was holding it and its attending Medigun under his arm.

"Scout is right, Sokov," the Medic said, pulling his gloves off, and unbuttoning his drenched lab coat. "I have been… indulging…" Engel winced as he undid the last button on his coat, his stomach feeling unusually tender at the slight touch. "Perhaps I decided to partake at a bad time and vound up in ze canal…" but it just didn't seem right…

"Doktor is not stupid!" Sokov asserted, pulling the Medic's wet coat free, and hanging it from a hook on the wall. "You would not do such thing during battle, Engel care too much about team for that." It was heartwarming that the Russian would defend him, even when he wasn't sure that he believed in himself.

"I just can't remember, Sokov," the Doctor said, rubbing his temples in frustration, eyes squeezed shut. He reopened them quickly when he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. Scout stuck his head into the open doorway.

"Hey, fags!" he said through a grin. "Don't forget to breathe real deep, Doc! Those fumes shouldn't go to waste!"

Sokov set the Medigun down and turned to face the doorway, and Scout suddenly didn't look so cocky. He turned and sprinted down the hall, and the Russian took off after him like an angry bear.

"WHEN I CATCH YOU, LEETLE SCOUT, I CRUSH YOUR TINY SKULL!" the man boomed. Engel smiled weakly to himself, closing the door to his room and locking it. He knew that he lumbering Russian would never be able to catch Peter. Eventually he would wear out his legs, and his temper, and the Scout would be safe.

The RED Medic finished peeling off his cold, wet clothes, hanging them up to dry before crawling into the welcoming warmth of his bed. He set his glasses on his nearby desk, and gave a frustrated sigh. Engel tried hard to remember how he had wound up in the canal, but simply couldn't recall how it had happened.

The doctor hummed quietly, trying to soothe his own anxious mind, idly resting a hand on his stomach. The touch elicited a hiss of pain from the man, and he jerked his hand away. What on earth had /happened/ to him?

* * *

><p>Engel's eyes snapped open for what had to have been at least the fifth time that night. He kept having strange dreams that would escape his memory the moment he woke, and he was having shooting pains in his abdomen.<p>

The doctor wearily slid out of bed, nearly recoiling at how cold the floor was against his bare feet. He put his glasses on before slipping on a pair of briefs and pants, unlocking his door, and starting down the hall. The Medic found that being upright and having weight off of his stomach seemed to relieve the pain.

"Boo!" Engel yelped in surprise, and whirled around to see McKinnon, holding an armful of crudely-made fireworks.

"Mein Gott! Vhat in ze /hell/ are you doing!" The doctor whispered harshly, one hand over his now-pounding heart.

"Aye, sorry Doc, I dinnae mean 'ta scare ye /that/ bad," the Scotsman chuckled. "Me an' Pyro are gonnae shoot off these wee beauties. Ye look stressed out, maybe ye should join us?"

The RED Medic shook his head in response. "McKinnon, don't you dare vind up blowing yourself and ze Pyro up…"

The Demoman smirked, and gave a shrug. "Your loss, Doc," he sing-songed before continuing down the hall, not even noticing as a piece of the ordinance fell from his arms. Engel frowned, and looked at the fallen object. It was one of McKinnon's grenades. A flash of terrifying images raced through the doctor's mind as he stared at the thing, and his face went white as a sheet…

Engel turned and raced down the hallway, back to his quarters. He shut and relocked the door before leaning against it, using it for support. The doctor put his hand back to his chest, where he could still feel his heart thudding away, and the beginnings of a sheen of sweat. He slid his hand down slowly, determined yet terrified to know the truth.

The doctor's hand suddenly found that tender spot, just above his navel. He set his jaw and took a few deep breaths before pressing against the flesh with his fingers. White-hot pain shot from his middle, and spots of light exploded in his vision. Engel could feel something beneath the muscles though… about the size of a first, with hard edges.

"Nein… nein, nein, /nein/, verdammt!" Engel cursed, letting his hand fall away before snatching up his Medigun and falling into his bed. A sudden, deafening boom made the Medic jerk and yelp, nearly jumping out of his skin. He was still alive, though.

"Scheiß fireworks…" the doctor managed between his frantic gasps. This had to be some kind of horrible, twisted nightmare. He gripped his Medigun tightly, holding the barrel up to his face before giving the trigger lever a slight and shaky push.

The warm plume of glowing ethers had scarcely left the barrel when Engel breathed in as deeply as he could. He felt the healing energies fill and warm his body. One by one, the doctor could feel his muscles relaxing, and the pain in his stomach began to dim as the room began to swim in vivid colors. But that one breath was not enough, and so he flicked the lever a second time, and a third, until his thoughts were so obliterated that all he could think of was how very wonderful he felt.

It was like floating, lost in a world without pain or fear. Engel gave a languid half-smile, his eyes glazed over in bliss. His hand fell away from the trigger lever, and the swirling colors pulled him gently down into the peaceful realm of unconsciousness.

* * *

><p>Dr. Engel capped and pocketed the empty syringe just in time for Fleischer to enter the infirmary. The younger man gave his superior a salute that was clearly mocking.<p>

"Herr Engel," the blonde sneered, "I couldn't help but notice that mein patients have suddenly begun to expire vhile I am avay."

Engel turned to face the man with an impassive expression. "Perhaps there is some sort of disease spreading among them? Something swept through bunkhouse four just a veek ago, und all the prisoners inside vere killed…"

Fleischer's jaw clenched visibly, he was obviously not satisfied with the explanation. "Mein infirmary is perfectly clean!" the man stated proudly. "It is a model of sanitation, und it is not so easily compromised!"

The older doctor pressed his lips together in a thin line, making it very clear that he was not sympathetic to his subordinate's dilemma. "You are very hard on your 'patients', Herr

Fleischer. Expecting them to survive your treatment for long is very unrealistic."

"Don't tell me you feel /sorry/ for the schweinhunds," Fleischer said in a low, accusing tone. "You aren't slipping avay the ideals of our Führer, are you?"

Engel knew that he was being baited by the other doctor, but he stoically refused to bite. "Subjects that are pushed too hard die quickly, Herr Fleischer… Subjects that die quickly do not yield much data," he replied flatly. "Zat is why I take only a few subjects at a time und make them last as long as I can."

The immaculate infirmary suddenly wavered. The edges of the walls and equipment began to distort and twist in a nightmarish fashion. Engel backed up towards the door, only to find that the door was no longer there, replaced by a seamless wall.

"You can't escape, Herr Engel," Fleischer said, reaching into his coat. "You have alvays been so good at escaping, ja?" He removed his hand from his lab coat with a flourish, holding what looked like a remote control with a single button on it. "But I caught you this time… und neither you nor your precious 'family' vill be getting avay!" Engel had just enough time to scream in rage, terror, and defeat before Fleischer slammed his thumb down onto the button, and the world ripped apart in a blinding, agonizing flash.

* * *

><p>The RED Medic awakened with a jerk. He blinked blearily a few times as someone placed his glasses on his face. His vision now cleared, he could see two men standing over him. One was Ben, the Engineer, wearing pair of flannel pants, and holding a hand over his left eye. The other was Sokov, wearing only boxers. There was a large bruise on the man's belly since the scattergun shot had not yet been removed, and he was leaning on his chaingun. Behind the two, Engel could see that the door to his quarters had been smashed off the hinges.<p>

"Ach!" the doctor exclaimed tiredly. "Vhat is ze meaning of this? Engineer, vhat happened to your face? Und, Sokov, why did you bring Sasha in here?" The Medic frowned as he questioned the two, realizing as he did so that he was soaked in a cold sweat, and trembling faintly.

"Doc, I heard ya' screamin' like someone was killin' ya in yer sleep… I guess Sokov heard too, and he didn't much like that he couldn't reach ya through the locked door an' all…"

"Da! I smash little door, und bring Sasha to kill person hurting Doktor!" The Heavy glanced around the room, and his expression sank a bit in disappointment, "but nobody is here. Then Engineer try to take Doktor's medigun. I warn him not to, but he did not listen!" Sokov chuckled faintly at that. It was then that Engel realized he was indeed holding his medigun, clutched to his chest in a death grip. His face flushed slightly in embarrassment as he slowly loosened his hold on the device.

"Yeah, Doc," Ben said with a nervous chuckle. "I've gotta say, you have a hell of a mean right hook."

"Das tut mir leid…" Engel muttered quietly in his own tongue before looking up at the Engineer. "Sorry." He sat up in bed, and aimed his medigun at the Engineer. A quick blast from the machine made the bruise forming over the man's left eye heal nearly instantaneously.

"Thanks, Doc." The Engineer smiled faintly, but there was a definite look of concern in his eyes. "Are ya alright, though? You were pretty out of it when Sokov hauled ya in yesterday."

Should he tell them? Perhaps the Engineer could find some way to diffuse the device (Engel certainly couldn't remove the thing from himself). No… no, that would never work. Fleischer would have ensured that the thing couldn't be tampered with. Now that Peter had let the team know about Engel's indulgences, they might not even believe him, ascribing his story to nothing more than a deluded vision leftover from his ether high. He couldn't let his teammates be killed, though… he had to think of something… he needed time…

"Ja, I am fine," Engel said, forcing a faint smile. "It vas only a dream." He gave a faint sigh as he looked at his clock. Nine a.m. "I need to get to ze infirmary… there are people that need to have bullets cut out, ja?" Sokov, in response, looked to his own bruised stomach and gave a nod.


End file.
